


Water and Poison

by IstTyrr



Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Blood and Injury, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Monologue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-19 03:02:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13114605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IstTyrr/pseuds/IstTyrr
Summary: After an ambush, Aloth, chided by Iselmyr, reflects on his own predicament through his experiences with the Watcher and their companions.





	Water and Poison

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first Pillars of Eternity fic I ever attempted writing and has been sitting on my hard drive, uncompleted, for ages.  
> Not anymore.  
> With all my thanks to **[Drack](http://eriself.tumblr.com/)** for their attentiveness and feedback, as well as inspiration on the concept of Ouroboros, without which this story would have never reached fruition.

Aloth flinched. It was a reaction he could not help, even though he considered the Watcher, a friend. Estinne hesitated for a moment, seeking his unworded approval, before resuming her ministrations. He did his best not to move, mentally reprimanding himself to stay still and let the Watcher examine him.

Her clasp of his chin felt gentle, as he allowed her to turn his head from side to side slowly, presumably assessing the damage. He was certain he presented a poor sight, scathed and bloodied as he was, but her eyes held as much appraisal as they did concern. Aloth had come to discern the subtle differences in a look. Over the years, he had felt all sorts of eyes fall upon him - with mockery and lust, with reproach and with envy. The Watcher's curiosity was pleasant in comparison.

Yet he found he could not bring himself to look at her. His eyelids played a timid game, flicking to the ground then back to her face, like a man guarding a grave secret.

"This will heal, _aimico_. I promise you." She smiled, as if catching his hesitation.  
Aloth returned a sad smirk and finally his gaze settled on hers.  
"I hope so, Estinne," he said quietly.

The attack had caught them by surprise and roused their small group in the middle of the night. As the fire died down, a pack of Wichts crept out of the woods and fell upon them. They fended, but not without peril.  
_Despicable_ really, these feral children, Aloth mused to himself. Yet another horrendus tale on the dangers of animancy.

"This might sting a bit," Estinne startled him into the present, as she began dabbing the scratch on his cheekbone.  
"It will not be the first time," he muttered under his breath.  
Catching his remark, the Watcher's smile waned into a thin line. Now it was her turn to avert her eyes and she concentrated instead on her hands, still busy holding him and cleaning his wounds.

Aloth let out a sigh. The cloth smelled sharp and acidic, doused in some medicinal solution she had pulled from her pack. At her every touch, his eyelids closed and trembled, as he did his best to stand still. For a man who was as used to suffering pain, he did not care for it.  
What hurt him most, was _gentleness_. Not because he didn't crave it; because he felt he didn't deserve it. The deep shame of what he had done and what he had to hide, caught up with him.

 **Disgust.** That's what he felt with himself for having to lie to her, to all of them. But there was a part of him that quietly reassured it was for the best. He knew there was already suspicion cast on him. He could hear it in their hushed whispers, uttered behind his back or see the doubt in their eyes. Sometimes it was almost like back at the Academy. They disliked his drape of secrecy. Yet that was tolerable, he was used to it. Preferable to the look of apprehension or pity they gave him whenever he revealed anything from his past. No, they could not bear who he truly was, the crimes he had committed in the name of conviction. To survive.

 _Yer doin' it agin, scholar-lad. Yer thinkin' in circles,_ Iselmyr voiced her concern in his head, but he ignored her.

Estinne's hands dropped, causing him to compose himself quickly, as she reached into her pack and rummaged around looking for something. His own hands fumbled nervously on his lap, furling and unfurling the creases of his robe and then straightening the fabric back down.

When finally she produced a small poultice flask, the Watcher had recovered her smile and her eyes were bright with a small triumph.  
Upending the lid produced a sweet smell and Estinne brought it to her nose, closing her eyes to take in the aroma with newfound pleasure. It gave him pause when she held the flask out to him, urging for a taste of the same. His hands stopped fumbling for a moment, just enough for him to lean forward cautiously. It smelt unfamiliar but pleasant; fresh and at the same time old, like a half-remembered memory.  
  
A bumbling laughter escaped her throat at his focused expression and looking back at her, he returned a hopeless smile. She discarded the bloody cloth she was holding and, for lack of a better instrument, dipped her finger into the mixture then waggled it playfully in front of his face. Aloth suppressed a laugh of his own and it came out mirth-filled behind closed lips. It was those little things that kept him afloat. All the misadventures he was unwittingly hurdled into when the Watcher was around.  
He only caught her intention when her finger was inches from his cheek and alarmed, he shied away for a second, before her grin made him surrender and gave in to her touch. He resigned to wringing his hands again.  
  
One by one, she carefully traced all the scratches on his face and Aloth found the cooling ointment much preferable to the throbbing of his wounds. The breath he was holding came out in relief and letting his eyelids close briefly, he wiped the cold sweat from his palms. When their gaze met again, he did not balk away from it. She had to know he was _grateful_ , even if there were no proper words for it. Not only for her care; but for having the opportunity to be part of _this_ \- this motley crew that had gathered around them.  
  
At his persistent stare, her movements faltered and he saw her lips move for something to say. As if catching himself, Aloth dropped his gaze.

"Apologies," he said, "you did not have to treat my wounds. It is much appreciated."  
She gave a startled laugh, as if a spell on her was suddenly lifted. "Of course, _aimico_. Don't speak such _paroles_."  
  
Aloth kept his eyes on the ground, as if pondering something and then he cleared his throat.  
"Estinne…" he began, but was quickly interrupted as he felt Iselmyr violently squirm in his gut.  
" _Si_ , Aloth?", he heard the Watcher reply but he chocked for words as his other half wrestled away at his consciousness.

  
_Ye pitying nancy-boy!_ Iselmyr slurred in his head, _Ye gon' daft? Ye be thinkin' ta spill the beans and then? Ye be thinking this Vailian wench a' gonna spare mercy on ye? Not gut ye like all yer other chums?_

 _They are **not** my "chums"_ , Aloth retorted mentally. _Need I remind you how I got into this mess?_

_Aye, recall ye lost yer wits o'er some brat what got his due. An' now you's almost gon an don it agin. Not gonna let ye 'is time 'round!_

A heavy shadow that loomed over them, startled him out of this inner conversation. The Watcher looked up gingerly.

"Hiravias?"

Fresh blood dripped from the Staelgar's maw and his talons were dipped in the same crimson hue. A limber tail whipped and circled around Estinne's form almost imperceptibly. Aloth felt his jaw clench. He was reluctant to admit that Hiravias was intimidating and not only when spiritshifted. Others would look at the druid's small stature and assume weakness. Cythwood festered with such power struggles and the contempt that bred from them. He knew the feeling well, as it had been cast upon him time and time again. It had taught him to see beyond the trappings of flesh.

"Got all banged-up, Aloth?" a familiar voice came from the Staelgar's throat, as Hiravias addressed him.

"It is nothing really," he heard himself reply with practiced courtesy. "The Watcher has graciously seen to it."  
"Not unlike you." Estinne countered. "You're bleeding!"

Although the Staelgar's fur was stained and matted from battle, there was no hiding the raw gash that run down his shoulder. In a gust of magic, Hiravias shifted to his skin, holding the shreds of his left sleeve.

"What, _this_?" he tilted his head, feighing surprise. And then grinned, as he elicited a smirk from the Watcher.  
"Come sit down, then!" Estinne said gleefully, patting the log next to her, "I'll stitch you up in no time."  
 Hiravias did not need any more encouragement, as he ploped down and gave Aloth an exaggerated wink with his one good eye. But soon, he got absorbed into a challenge of wits with the Watcher, in-between wincing at his wound being mended.

Aloth had not failed to notice that since the druid had joined their midst, he and Estinne had become close, a closeness that made him uncomfortable. Hiravias would leap into everything he shied away from; Touch, confrontation, emotion. He felt so opposite to this man, that it almost made him resentful. No, it was not just the inappropriate wit and slight mockery that put him off. Embarassing as it was, he was envious. Whatever beast Hiravias had, it was out in the open. He flaunted it, in fact, used it, bent it to his will to intimidate and decimate their enemies. Despite the intitial apprehension, he had quickly come clean about the Autumn Staelgar, about his exile, about his past. And himself? He still dreaded to reveal the simplest, most obvious thing - his Awakening.

As much as he sought the truth about his condition, as much as he needed it, Aloth dreaded it more. Not Iselmyr, but another monster was locked away inside him. His was not the wolf that howled at the moon but something that festered at the pit of his soul, so overfed that he could no longer tell its breadth.  
That _thing_ , which gagged him silent when it was most needed to speak. And like rope, bound his hands and led him on a string to evil deeds. Letting others take the fall that was meant for him. Blindfolded him, to turn a blind eye.  
That _snake_ which secretly revelled, looking back to Targun's glassy eyes, while the drool run from his mouth, knowing there was no way its bite could be traced. That was still lulled to sleep by the sound of his father's bone snapping. That was content to lie to all of them about who he truly was, why he had come to Dyrwood, what he truly believed in. Slither through the grass, seeping what ounce of goodwill these people had. The snake had no friends. It only looked out for itself. It was calculating, patient. It knew how to get its way without cost. Worst of all, it made sense. Without its grip, there was only chaos, a chaos flooded with uncontrolled and unexamined feelings. He was lost.

Estinne laughed sharply at some tall tale from Hiravias and unwittingly, his eyes stole a glance at her. Her smiling lips, still stained with red paint from the day before. He remembered how rosy her lips looked under moonlight, one night they sat drinking in a quay at Ondra's Gift. Why could he not enjoy as simple a connection with her? He passed his fingers along his own lips and what fleeting desire he felt was constricted by the oppressive coil in his chest. There was an ocean of words and deeds between him and the Watcher and he, a poor navigator. The sly voice beneath, whispered the same thing as that night; whatever feelings he might have had, now was not the time. They had work to do.  
Aloth closed his eyes shut and exhaled deeply, conceding to the same will that binded him for decades. To stall, to wait, to do nothing.

Still, there was something inside him that rebelled, something that had grown discontent. Something restless. Whatever tatters of courage he had left, he mustered and for a second, the fury of Iselmyr washed over him, lending her strength to his.  
His words came out like an incantation:

 _One day, I will tell you of everything. This I vow, Estinne._  
_One o these days ye're bound to find the snake's head. And then, lad..._  
**_We shall sever it._ **


End file.
